A FEW WORDS ABOUT MY WIFE by Vladimir Mayakovsky
I have married the moon and she combs the water,
the beaches of uncharted seas.
She’s my lunar lady, she has long red hair
and she drives a herd of horses
through a screaming streak of stars!
She gets married every evening in a greasy garage
and she kisses all the pictures
on the newspaper stands.
Her pretty boy winks, he wraps
the Milky Way around her,
he gets glitter on his fingers
and stars all over his hands.
And what about me?
The yoke of your eyebrows brings buckets of water
from the cool cool wells of your eyes,
it douses my desire and the lake-silk shimmers
on the singing amber cello of your thighs.
I sink into boulevards! I drown
in desire for deserts of sand.
Don’t you recognize your baby?
It’s my poor little poem, she wears fishnet stockings
and she drinks in a bar
as empty as this barren land.
TWENTY-FIRST. NIGHT. MONDAY. by Anna Akhmatova
Twenty-first. Night. Monday.
Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.
Some good-for-nothing — who knows why—
made up the tale that love exists on earth.
People believe it, maybe from laziness
or boredom, and live accordingly:
they wait eagerly for meetings, fear parting,
and when they sing, they sing about love.
But the secret reveals itself to some,
and on them silence settles down…
I found this out by accident
and now it seems I’m sick all the time.
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time lapse video of planetary alignment between Jupiter, Venus, and the Moon
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illustrated Mad Men fornication chart
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Hula Hoop - Gucci Gucci by Kreayshawn
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